


Barefoot

by SealandRocks



Series: Love Stories for the Oblivious [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dancing, Inspired by a Hozier Song, Kissing, M/M, Picnics, Queen - Freeform, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 04:01:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20147290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SealandRocks/pseuds/SealandRocks
Summary: Crowley loves to dance. He's not very good at it, but he loves it. He just wishes he had a partner to share his passion with. If only a certain angel would agree to be his partner for the evening.





	Barefoot

**Author's Note:**

> It is very early in the morning and I am very tired, but this idea wouldn't leave me alone. Enjoy!  
I made a playlist too, if that's something you'd like to listen to.

It started in his toes. It always started down there, the reckless, irresistible temptation for movement. It would spread into his feet, then up his ankles, infecting his bloodstream like poison. It was unstoppable, irrational, and impossible to predict. It would jolt up his spine before he even knew what was happening, making his hips sway and feet tap and head bob in warning that something much more was coming. 

Crowley wasn’t good at dancing. He knew this, on some level. Compared to other demons, though, he was Mick Jagger. It wasn’t like he hadn’t demolished Hastur on the dancefloor last century when the man had made the mistake of challenging Crowley to a dance-off in the middle of the 1920’s swing movement. Hastur had been trying to keep up with the times or something, but Crowley had learned some devastating moves from the flapper girls he hung around with, and it had been an absolute landslide. 

There weren’t many demons around now. Just one, bare-footed and loose, humming and swaying in his office to the music echoing out of his phone speaker. It was hardly the worst venue he could have chosen to dance in. He wasn’t allowed back into certain parts of Kingston because of how his moves had upset some rather uppity bus-takers. 

_Caviar and cigarettes, well versed in etiquette, extraordinarily nice._

Crowley’s feet spun him in circles. His arms were raised at his sides, painting wave patterns into the air as his shoulders rolled with every step. His head was thrown back, eyes closed as he felt the music. Chills ran down his back, across his arms, and made his fingers twitch in delight. 

_She's a Killer Queen_. Crowley planted his feet wide, hips knocking back and forth in opposition to his shoulders. _Gunpowder, gelatin. _His legs moved him again, walking him in an odd oval as he pumped his arms into the air over and over, shaking his head with the beat. _Dynamite with a laser beam._ His bare feet made soft padding noises as he hopped backwards and forwards, pedaling an invisible bike with his hands. _Guaranteed to blow your mind._

“Anytime!” Crowley sang passionately into the plant mister he was holding, loudly and unabashedly involved with the music. It felt good. For all the times he had to be present in his life, it felt incredibly releasing to just dance and sing like the entirety of Hell wasn’t focused on every tap of his foot. 

Crowley danced and sang and pretended the world could stop turning for him. His hips swayed out of beat with the sliding of his heels, arms outstretched and wrists flicking upwards. He nearly tripped over his jacket where he had flung it onto the floor earlier when he was too absorbed in the beat to miracle it away. He kicked it out of the way, finding the motion very nice and working it into his dance for the next several seconds. 

All too soon, the music dipped and ended. Crowley, always one for performances, ended the song posed elegantly on the center of his desk, hands reaching up towards the high ceiling and chest heaving. He urge to dance bled out of him as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving a warm note in his fingertips and a glow in his bones. Oh, now that was the best part. It was almost orgasmic, how dancing left him all loose and happy. 

Not for the first time, Crowley thought about what it might be like to have someone to dance with. No one in Hell could really mesh with his style, especially not after what the ‘70s did to it. Hastur and Ligur were considered advanced when it came to modern dancing styles, a thought that could make Crowley weep. Not that it really mattered. He didn’t want to dance with those two. 

His mind brought him back to the dance partners of his past. Humans were much better at dancing than he could ever hope to be, but the proximity they worked within was very nice. Leave to a human to practically hump someone else then reveal that it was all for the sake of dancing with no romantic intentions. Crowley thought it was one of the greatest human inventions; no repercussions, no worries over romantic feelings, just physical proximity. It was something he was fortunate enough to experience a handful of times.

Humans weren’t on his mind for tonight, however. They lived too short and danced too well. He needed to dance _with_ someone. Which, of course, brought him to only 1 option.

Angels. In all his existence, he had only ever heard of one angel daring to dance. Luckily for him, that one angel only lived a half hour away and was saved in his phone. Even more fortunate was that with the promise of food, Crowley could get away with almost anything with him. The only downside was that said angel only knew one dance. Well, Crowley had worked with less.

Getting Aziraphale to agree to meeting was the easy part. Crowley had no sooner said to words “picnic with champagne” than Aziraphale was gushing about a million different things, making an unnecessary amount of noise into the receiver as he ran around collecting champagne flutes and changing into something “more appropriate for the weather”. Whatever that meant; the weather was perfectly clear, an unusual thing in London. Crowley would swear he had nothing to do with it. 

“I’ve been saving a rather prestigious bottle of Armand de Brignac Brut for a special occasion such as this, let me find it! Oh, surely we must have music too, I believe I still have that portable record player from the 60’s hanging around. Should I pack us up a tin of biscuits?”

“Angel, I have it covered, you just have to bring yourself.” Crowley had Aziraphale on speakerphone as he drove. Aziraphale was practically monologuing, completely brushing over Crowley’s comment and continuing to gather things. 

Ten minutes later and Aziraphale was practically vibrating as he got into the Bently, finally agreeing to just bringing one tin of biscuits and leaving the record player at home. Crowley was used to his angel being a chatterbox, but seeing him this excited was starting to become contagious. 

“Honestly, I can’t believe we haven’t done this before. I absolutely adore picnics, there was one that I went to just a few decades ago that had the most wonderful sandwiches. You would have loved it, it was there that I learned what ‘pigs in a blanket’ were. Absolutely scrumptious. They had bourbon that would knock your socks off.” 

Aziraphale was rambling, but Crowley just listened with a soft smile on his face as he drove them to St. James’ Park. He could never tire of the sound of Aziraphale’s voice. It was the one constant in his life, and it always seemed to remind Crowley of rain on a tin roof but with much more interesting things to say. 

It didn’t take them long to get set up. Crowley set about preparing the bluetooth speaker he had brought while Aziraphale poured glasses of champagne for them both. It was unbearably romantic, not that either party would admit it. They toasted the world as soft Sinatra serenaded the shifting, twinkling stars reflected in the water. 

Aziraphale’s shoulder brushed against Crowley’s, sending an electric jolt down his spine. 6000 years and still just an accidental touch made Crowley feel like he was floating. Maybe his grand plan wasn’t so well thought out after all.

“So,” Crowley cleared his throat, suddenly unsure, “I was wanting to ask you. The whole reason I asked you out here- well, not the whole reason. Part of the reason. A reason I asked you here was to help me. Er, that is to say, indulge me. I know you like doing human things, and there’s been something I’ve been wanting to ask for a while, if you’re alright with it of course-”

Crowley was interrupted by Aziraphale taking his hand. He turned to find the angel staring at him, something akin to adoration in his eyes. Crowley almost felt bad that such a beautiful look would be used on him. 

“I’m open to anything, my dear boy. Ask me.”

Crowley tried to swallow away the dryness in his throat and failed. The music shifted, soft jazz changing to something with a bit more feeling. Crowley silently regretted putting his phone on shuffle. From Eden by Hozier hit a little too close to home for him. 

_There’s something tragic about you. _

“Dance with me.” Crowley’s voice came out much softer than he intended it. Aziraphale smiled like he had been expecting the question, rising to his feet and pulling Crowley up behind him. 

_Something so magic about you._

Aziraphale kept holding on to Crowley’s hand, his other hand rising to his shoulder hesitantly. Crowley had seen this position enough to know his hand had to rest upon Aziraphale’s waist. It was hard not to discorporate as he placed his hand over his soft, warm hips. It became worse when Aziraphale stepped close enough to almost have their chests meet. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to lead. I don’t know this one.”

“I don’t either,” Crowley confessed, “But I’ll work it out as I go.”

_There’s something lonesome about you. Something so wholesome about you. Get closer to me._

Crowley stepped, Aziraphale following easily. Their feet swirled around one another, stepping on toes here and there and very clumsy. Really it was only swaying with a bit more turns. But it was magical. 

It was captivating how Aziraphale’s lips pursed in concentration, how he huffed something like a laugh every time their feet got too close. The way his hand was burning a hole into Crowley’s shoulder. The scent of his cologne and the shortbread he had been eating. It was overwhelming and saturating and beautiful. Crowley really wished he could watch where his feet were going, but all he could see was Aziraphale’s face. 

_Honey, you’re familiar like my mirror years ago._

Crowley spun them in a tight circle, suddenly caught up in the rhythm of the song. His toes shimmered with sensation, spreading up his legs and into his chest. They weren’t slow dancing anymore. There was a tune caught in Crowley’s body, making his movements more erratic and less graceful. 

He expected his partner to be put off. It would not be the first time he had been thrown away by someone for his unorthodox dancing. It was natural to him by now. What Aziraphale actually did was much more shocking. 

Aziraphale shifted to holding both of Crowley’s hands, drawing large circles in the air between them and matching his energy. Crowley was dumbfound for a few moments. Aziraphale was dancing with him, not well and definitely with the bouncing of the Gavotte, but he was dancing. For the first time, Crowley wasn’t being danced against or around, but danced with. His heart felt incredibly light and warm in his chest. 

Hozier faded out. Queen faded in, then out again. And Whitney Houston. Song after song, dance after dance, an angel and a demon danced under the stars and sang horrible karaoke at the oak trees. 

Maybe tomorrow Crowley would regret feeling this vulnerable. Most likely they would keep living their lives and never talk about this again. But for tonight there were breathless laughs and shuffling feet and cringe-worthy dance moves and champagne. Tonight he could be himself. And through the bobs and spins and kicking feet, Aziraphale was being himself too. They were relaxed and happy and completely themselves, only together. Crowley was never going to dance with anyone else again.

The night took a pause as Jack Johnson started something smoother through the speaker. Angel and demon tumbled onto their backs on the blanket, laughing at the moon and trying to catch their breath before they could get up to dance again. 

“I’ve never danced like that before.” Aziraphale said.

“Neither have I.” Crowley admitted. He turned his head to find Aziraphale looking back at him. Something sparked between them, something invisible and soft and innocent. 

It was suddenly so simple. Crowley tilted his head in, Aziraphale meeting him in the middle and kissing him in the softest, most heartfelt way imaginable. It was indescribable. Ineffable. Crowley was lost in it, purified from it, and suddenly shortbread would never taste the same. 

Too soon, it was over. The song had shifted again, but Crowley couldn’t hear it anymore. His senses were filled with Aziraphale pulling him back up, pulling him to dance closer against his own body. Butterscotch and honey filled his nose. Crowley licked his lips and found Aziraphale’s taste still upon them. He danced with a renewed vigor, not daring to separate himself from Aziraphale’s magnetism. 

No one but the stars could blame Crowley if a few more of those wandering kisses were to be found barefoot on the dewy grass. Aziraphale certainly didn’t seem to mind, blushing and glowing and returning each one like they were blessings. Swaying there, together in the starlight, it was very possible that they were.


End file.
